Flyin' high

PILLOW FLIGHT 

 

We 240 people have been sitting on this plane that is sitting on the tarmac for forty minutes, give or take two or three. No explanation has been given nor even a paper cup of cold water. There is no doubt in my mind that flight 707 is in trouble. Twenty more minutes finish a full hour and we are still buckled up, our legs are cramped over and beside our small carry ons. The fat man between me and a nice looking black woman snores. He gives me the creeps. The plane suddenly begins to shake, to grumble. If it were human, I would bet a buck it was going to vomit. If not the plane, I'd pay myself a buck to let go of the queaze that is on the verge of easement.

 

Finally, through the somewhat unclear loudspeaker, comes an  announcement. 'Ladies and Gentlemen and the little sheltie in seat 205 window: We apologize for the delay  but all is ready now. We are fifth in line for take off.' Groans and moans fill the overly warm plane. We have, I guesstimate 65 yards to be first. After no more than 20 we stop again. Mr. Snorer, eyes still closed, humphs and raises his hand, puts it down on the arm rest, right on top of mine.

 

The starts and stops total five. We are all still sitting seated when suddenly the ground is moving fast. Other planes disappear. There is only a little space between #707 and a lot of white marshmallowy clouds. We go in nose first and are engulfed in what must be heaven. The sheltie in its small cage across the aisle from me whines, its shaking legs, let me know he too is frightened. It's master is oblivious and has his nose buried in the Wall St. Journal.

 

I might win a contest of flyers who are shaky all the time, feel we are invading space that was not meant for humans. Nevertheless, It doesn't hold me back too often if there is something I truly want to see. This is the destination I have been hungering for since I was a kid, saw lightning, eclipses, thundering, blundering storms, rainbows. The long flight from Miami flies out over the Atlantic to Baltimore for a 25 minute stop-over. With no chance at all to see Ft. Mc Henry or tour the Harbor Mall, I stay aboard and out of the sweepers way, use the just slightly cleaned loo before anyone else has a chance to get in. Good old reliable Baltimore. Twenty five minutes from touch down, we take off again. I bless those Baltimoreans.

 

The travel pillow I had seen on line for $2.99, I didn't buy but, once seated on Flt.707, I knew I had goofed. I call the stewardess over to  ask if neck pillows are available on board. 'Yes Mam. What color would you like? I select light blue from her list. It arrives with a bill for $14 and looks just like the $2.99 one on line. If I want it, and I do, I give her my charge card and sit back, try to close my eyes but can't. Just then coffee with little cheese crackers are served during the long, dull flight to Salt Lake City. There is nothing much to see, down, up or in front of me. The fat man has left and was replaced by a fat lady who has a lovely smile and body odor. We introduce ourselves but barely speak. She hands me a napkin and a coffee stirrer and I hand the small tray back when the stewardess starts to clean up for our landing. I have to wait in line again to use the toilet, wash my face and hands, put on fresh lipstick. I don't take long.

 

The pilot announces the safety rules to land in Anchorage and when I can see the stony gray mountains out my window, I double check my seat belt and start breathing heavy, holding an arm rest for security.
I also send up a silent thanks to god and the pilots for getting me this far safely.

 

My luggage arrives in tact, but my new pillow must have fallen on the floor. It is gone. I catch sight of the lady who was sitting near me when I bought it. The bitch is carrying my pillow. I chase after her, know she sees me, but ducks into any number of places. My anger almost erupts but what can I do?

 

A driver named Akuha, holds a sign with my name and I am ready to be driven to Hotel Borealis. The air is clear and very chilly. Akuha asks me if I have a good, warm jacket and hiking shoes. 'The walk to the top is difficult, breathe slowly, stop and rest. You are in for a treat, one you will remember forever.' My excitement rises. I have a two hour rest before I am to be met by the guide who will position us to see the magnificent aurora borealis. It only appears once a year.

 

The shoes of a tall, very strong looking Eskimo, squeak on the hard packed snow as he approaches our group. 'Stay together. It is a long and difficult walk. If you need to rest, signal me with this red flag.' He hands one to each of us, only twenty in number. He spoke the truth. The walk almost to the top of our appointed spot was tiring, even for him. We sit on snow covered boulders and watch the sky. It is coal black. If there is a moon, it is hiding. We sit and get colder by the hour. A flare shoots across the sky. Our director gathers us to take us back to our starting place. He makes many apologies for what he cannot show us. 'This happens once in maybe ten years and it has happened now, tonight. There will be no borealis show.' Twenty of us yelled at once, 'Robbers, thieves. We want our money back, including everything! He has nothing to say except we must speak to our travel agents.

 

My disappointment is humongous but no greater than the others. All we can do is trudge, slip, slide down the mountain, go to our rooms and be ready to fight in the morning.

 

Before I decide who to call, what to say, I locate a guide, a teacher, who will take me out for a dog sled ride, let me hold the reins, perhaps take a skiing lesson. There are small shops selling tourist garbage and I go in several just to warm myself. A very sweet pleasant elderly saleswoman suggests I buy a neck pillow before my flights home. How can I say no? Hers, identical to the one I had stolen from me on the plane is $2.99, just like the t.v. ads.

 

I buy a green one to remind me of the green grass in FLorida.